


A Formidable Foe

by jdmusiclover



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-10 19:38:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3301139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdmusiclover/pseuds/jdmusiclover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Killian is no stranger to facing formidable foes, but he was nowhere near prepared for the latest one--bronchitis.  After 300 years of rarely being sick a day in his life, he finds being sidelined more difficult than he could have imagined.  Luckily his has Emma to help him through.  Set within the "The Girl That I Adore" universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

            Killian was no stranger to foes that needed to be defeated.  Storybrooke had seen a steady influx of them since he’d first sailed into the town nearly three years before.  Without fail, the town, led by his lovely wife and her Charming family had succeeded in vanquishing every single one.

            But this newest one might just be the most formidable of all.

            It went by the ungodly name of “Bronchitis.”

            It had started a week previously as nothing more than a sniffle, a slight irritation in the throat.  Oh how little did he know what was in store!

On that fateful day, he’d woken believing he was the most fortunate man in all the realms, for he woke with Emma Swan—Jones now—sleeping in the circle of his arms.  His hand moved from its resting place on her waist to cover the rapidly expanding swell of her abdomen.

“Good morning, little love,” he’d whispered in the quiet room, caressing Emma’s stomach in which their child lay. 

Killian felt a swift kick against his fingers in response.  He smiled in delight pressing gently against the point of contact his wee one had made.  “I see you’re feeling quite feisty this morning.  You have your mother’s spirit.”

Killian let his mind wander back some six months—back to the day Emma told him she was with child.  The news had come as quite the surprise to both of them.  They’d been married a scant three months at the time, and they’d decided to wait quite a while longer before they attempted to start a family.  The child they’d created of their love evidently had other ideas.

Emma had emerged from the bathroom white as a sheet, a stunned expression leaving her mouth hanging open.  Killian immediately got to his feet and went to her, concern eating at him.

“What is it love?  Is ought the matter.”

“It’s....It’s _this_.”  She’d waved a stick containing strange markings before his face, evidently believing it served as sufficient explanation.

“Aye,” he said, warily taking the object and peering at it intently.  “And precisely what am I to glean from this wand, Swan?”

            “I’m..” she cleared her throat and started again.  “I’m pregnant.”

            The joy, the wonder had been swift and immediate.  “You’re with child?  We’re to have a child?”

            She’d slowly turned to look at him then, her jaw still dropped in shock.  “Yeah, yeah we are.”

            She’d dropped to sit upon the bed then, eyes glued to the wand which had evidently imparted this knowledge to her.  “Killian, it’s too early yet.  We…we were going to wait.  We took precautions.  How did this happen?”

            He couldn’t contain the devilish grin that overspread his features.  With one gentle finger, he lifted her chin until she was looking at him.  “Well, Darling, I was under the impression you were aware how these things come to be, but if you’d like, I’d be happy to provide a demonstration.”

            She’d rolled her eyes then and smiled.  Overcome with emotion, he’d taken her into his arms, holding her tightly.  “A father!  I’m to be a father!”

             Emma pulled back, but never left the shelter of his arms.  She’d searched his face carefully.  “You’re okay with this?  Really?”

            Killian saw the trepidation, even fear on her lovely face.  Did she truly think he wouldn’t be?  Did she think he would be angry with her?  That he would abandon her?  His eyes softened, and he leaned forward to gently kiss her.  “My love, there is no news you could have imparted to me that would have made me happier.”

            Now, so many months later, the wonder, the joy, the love had yet to recede.  It would be three months yet before his little lass would enter the world, and Killian could barely rein in his anticipation.  He leaned down and kissed Emma’s nightgown-clad belly.  When he straightened, he found himself looking into the sparkling green eyes he loved so dearly—eyes that had turned decidedly tender.

            Emma reached up a hand to caress his stubbled cheek.  “Killian, I love you,” she said simply.  It had taken so long for her to first utter those magical words.  Now, he treasured their every utterance more than the most priceless treasure he’d ever obtained as a pirate.

            Killian leaned down and kissed her deeply.  “I love you too, sweetheart.  So very, very much.”

            Emma wrapped her arms around him and deepened the kiss even further.  “So how about you show me just how much, pirate?”

            Oh, that he could do!  That he could do with great pleasure.  He grinned, swooping in for another kiss as his hand reached for the hem of her nightgown…

            And then it happened. 

He had barely enough time to turn away from her before the vicious sneeze ripped through him.  It was followed by another…and then another.  By the time he’d gotten the attack under control, he’d become aware of the scratchiness of his throat, the watering of his eyes.

            Emma pulled back, obviously concerned.  “You okay, Killian?  You’re not coming down with something, are you?”

            He shook his head firmly.  “Not to worry, Swan, I’ve a strong constitution.  I’ve rarely been ill a day of my life.”

 

~.~.~.~.~.~

 

            By the next morning, he wasn’t far less sure that he _was_ alright. 

The scratchiness had blossomed into a full blown sore throat, and he felt like he’d spent half the night coughing.  Midway through the night, he’d left their bedroom to go wrestle manfully with his affliction in the sitting room where he wouldn’t disturb his love’s sleep with his confounded hacking.

            Moments later a door closed down the hall and a bleary eyed Henry padded his way toward the kitchen.  “Morning Killian,” he murmured as he grabbed the juice from the refrigerator.  “Sounded like you had a rough time last night.”

            He tousled the lad’s hair as he walked past.  “Aye, ‘twas rather unpleasant at that.  I hope my coughing didn’t keep you up.”

            Henry shrugged.  “Nah, not too bad.  You can’t help it if you’re sick.”

            _Sick?  Was he sick? Was this more than an anomaly, a slight fluctuation of his humors?_   _Was the dark and dangerous Captain Hook actually to be bested by an_ illness _?_   _Not bloody likely!_

            “I’m fine my lad,” Killian attempted to say bracingly.  The effect was rather marred by the thickness of his voice and his red and dripping nose.  “No illness would dare to touch me.”

            Henry gave him a knowing look.  “Mm-hm,” he muttered incredulously.  “You know, you should talk to Mom.  She’s really good at taking care of people when they’re sick.”

            “Is she now?”

            “Yeah,” Henry said, plopping down onto the chair facing the couch where Killian had sprawled for the night.  “At least I think she is.  Sometimes it’s hard to remember what were the real memories and what were the cursed ones my other mom gave us when we went back to New York.  Anyway, she always made me feel better.  You should definitely talk to mom.”

            “Talk to me about what?” Emma asked, shuffling her way out to join her men.  She brushed a kiss against Henry’s head, and then took a seat next to Killian on the sofa.

            “Killian’s sick,” Henry called breezily.

            “I most certainly am not!  I am perfectly well, I’ll have you know!”

            _Cough! Cough!_   Damn his traitorous lungs!  

            Emma glanced over at him with those all-knowing eyes.  Reaching over, she placed a gentle hand against his forehead.  The lad was right; even the mere caress of her hand was soothing.  After a moment, she shook her head.  “The kid’s right.  You, Killian, are most definitely sick.”

            Killian glared at her for a moment in indignation.  “I assure you, darling,” _sneeze_ “the fearsome Captain Hook does not” _cough_ “get sick!”

            “I think the ‘fearsome Captain Hook’ could use another tissue,” she said, passing the box over.

            Killian took the offering and blew his nose with as much dignity as he could muster—which wasn’t much.  There was no doubt about it; the fates were not in his corner on this day.

            Emma grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet.  “Come on, Mr. Big Bad Pirate Man.  Let’s get you into bed.”

            He let himself be led, his eyes lighting up.  This conversation was definitely taking a more pleasant turn.  “Only if you join me, love.”

            Behind them Henry groaned loudly.  “You guys are disgusting!  You can’t even wait until I leave for school?”

            Emma shook her head and rolled her eyes.  “Relax kid, I’m just getting your stubborn step-dad who is ‘not sick’ settled in for a day of rest and recuperation.”

            “Now, Swan, I must protest,” Killian said, indignantly.  “As newly appointed deputy of this town, I haven’t the luxury to lie abed all day.  I must be about the task of keeping Storybrooke’s residents safe.”

            She smirked as she pulled back the covers of their bed and got him settled inside.  “I think my dad and I can handle the citizens of this town for the day.  Besides, doubt any of them really want you coughing and sneezing on them anyway.”

            She disappeared into the bathroom, and Killian heard her rummaging around in the medicine cabinet.  He lay back, enjoying the soft bedding, the firm pillow.  He hated to admit it, but perhaps the lass had a point.  He doubted he had the energy to deter the maleficence of a child, let alone confront a full blown villain, should one appear.  Perhaps a day spent lying abed and watching Netflix would indeed be a day well spent.

            Emma returned with two capsules of medication and a glass of water.  She watched as he swallowed the pills and placed the glass upon the night stand, and then gently feathered her fingers through his hair.  Leaning down, she placed a quick kiss against his forehead and then looked down at him tenderly.

            “Look, Killian,” she said gently, never stopping the gentle ministrations of her soothing hand against his fevered brow.  “I know it sucks to be cooped up at home sick, but Henry, the baby, me…we all need you; and we need you back to your healthy, vital self.   Rest up today, and then let me take care of you after work.  You’ve done so much for me; let me return the favor.”

            His heart melted within him, and he reached up a gentle hand to cup her cheek.  “I could never do enough to repay you for the heaven you’ve opened for me, love, but if it will please you, I’ll do as you ask.”

            She grinned.  “Good.  And maybe if you’re a good fearsome pirate captain I could be persuaded to join you for some…more enjoyable activities once you’re well.”

            If that wasn’t incentive for doing everything in his power to regain his health, he didn’t know what was.


	2. Chapter 2

                Emma precariously balanced the grocery and take-out bags in one hand while she used the other to unlock the apartment door.  It had been a slow day at the station.  She’d dealt with only one call.  An irate Tom Clark called her down to the Dark Star Pharmacy because a customer had refused to pay for her prescription after he’d sneezed on it.  She’d shaken her head as she headed out, wondering what people expected when they had their doctors order prescriptions from a man who’d been named “Sneezy” in the Enchanted Forest.

            As the afternoon wore on, she’d started to go stir crazy.  She missed Killian.  True, this was only the second day he’d been out sick with the plague, or whatever the hell it was that he had caught, but his absence at the station left a big void.

            Finally her father had noticed.

            “Look, Emma,” he’d said, leaning over to give her a hug, “there’s nothing going on around here.  I’m good to man the desk for the rest of the afternoon.  Go home and take care of your pirate.”

            “You sure Dad?” she’d asked, already heading for the coat rack.  “I feel bad leaving you here by yourself.”

            “Don’t be,” he’d said with a smile.  “Henry’s coming over after school.  If things don’t pick up around here, maybe I’ll take him out for another sword fighting lesson.”

            So she’d left, made a couple stops for medicines and juices and other assorted items she thought might help her nurse her husband back to health, and headed home.

            It took a little fancy maneuvering, but she managed to open the door and shove her way through.

            “Swan!” Killian called, rising quickly from the couch and taking the bags from her.  “You should have called me with your talking phone.  You oughtn’t to be carrying such a load in your condition!”

            Emma smiled as she followed him inside.  Her husband was chivalrous to a fault.  Even now when he felt like absolute crap, if his pale face, red nose and gravelly voice were any indication, he was determined to come to her aid.  She was a strong woman and hardly needed a knight in shining armor (or maybe a knight in skin-tight leather might be more appropriate where her pirate was concerned) to save her, but she couldn’t help but sigh in pleasure at the gesture—and the obvious love behind it.

            “They weren’t that heavy, Killian”, she said following him into the kitchen, “just kind of awkward.”

            “Be that as it may,” he said, “I’m always at your disposal should you need assistance carrying your burdens.”

            She took a good look at him as he set the last bag on the counter.  He looked terrible.  His eyes, usually so bright with love and mischief were dull and haggard.  He looked as exhausted as he would if he’d pulled an all-nighter.  There was even a slight tremor to his movements.  There was no doubt about it; he was sicker than a dog.

            Emma took his arm and gently led him back to the bedroom and tucked him into the bed.  It was a testament to just how lousy he felt that he didn’t even put up a protest.  Once she had him settled in, she perched herself on the edge of the bed and smoothed her cool hand over his overly warm brow.  “Looks like you aren’t feeling any better yet.”

            He heaved a sigh—which promptly turned into a hacking cough—and then grimaced.  “It would appear not, love.  I wouldn’t wish this affliction upon my worst enemy—well, perhaps upon the Crocodile, but he would be the only exception.”

            She chuckled.  After what Rumplestiltskin had tried to do to Killian in order to fill that damn hat with magic, Emma was right there with her pirate.  Things were…better…between her husband and Gold now that Gold had finally had his “come to Jesus” moment, but she doubted the tension between them would ever fully dissipate.  

            “Well,” she said, reaching down to link her fingers with his, “things were slow at the station, so I decided to come home and take care of you.  This stupid sickness doesn’t know what it’s up against, trying to take down the savior’s true love.”

            He chuckled—and then coughed again.  “Aligned against you, it doesn’t have a chance.  So what precisely do you have planned when it comes to caring for me?  I’ve been told that a kiss can have marvelous curative properties.”

            The idiot tapped his lips and gave her a flirtatious look from beneath hooded eyes.  She grinned, letting her mind wander to the first time he’d made such a move just before their first kiss in Neverland.  He must not be on death’s doorstep yet if he was still capable of such blatant flirting.

            Emma leaned forward and kissed his forehead.  “Killian, I love you with all my heart, but until you get well, that’s the most passionate kiss you can hope for.”

            His brow furrowed.  “Why is that, love?”

            “Because,” she answered, “I have no interest letting you give me your germs.”

            The furrow deepened.  “What the bloody hell is a ‘germ’ and what makes you believe I have one to give you?”

            “You know, ‘germs’,” she said, “the little organisms that invade your body and make you sick.”

            He gave her a shocked look.  “Swan, are you trying to tell me my illness is a result of an army of tiny creatures assaulting my body?”

            “Well…pretty much,” she said with a shrug.  “You’ve seriously never heard of germs?”

            “No I have not!” he said indignantly, “it was common knowledge in my land that illness was caused by the imbalance of the movement of fluids and fibers within the body.”

            “Well that’s…different,” she said.  “I’m not sure I want to know what you did to, um, balance everything out again, but in this land, we fight germs.”

            “And how, precisely, does one go about doing that?”

            Emma grabbed the bag of supplies she’d picked up at the pharmacy.  “Through medicine, rest, drinking lots of liquids, long hot baths to break up the congestion.   That sort of thing.”

            His eyes turned decidedly wicked.  “If I must take a hot bath to dispatch the germs, that’s what I shall do, darling.  I am, however, decidedly weak and ill.  It might be that I need my beautiful nurse to join me in the bathing process.”

            Emma grinned and rolled her eyes.  “If you ever stop with the innuendos I’ll know you’re dead.”

            Killian shrugged.  “One thing I’ve learned about formidable enemies, one does not allow them the power to destroy one’s happiness.  Should I fail to take advantage of, er, enjoyable activities with my lovely wife, the germs have won.”

            “Except, of course,” Emma pointed out handing Killian a dose of cough syrup and a bottle of water, “the ‘enjoyable activities’ that would logically follow the two of us bathing together would probably spread the germs to me as effectively as a kiss would.”

            “Blast!” Killian said under his breath. “These germs are apparently far more formidable foes than I had known.”

            Emma laughed, leaning down to fluff his pillow and tuck the covers in more securely.  Suddenly she looked away, feeling self-conscious.  “Did…did you mean it?”

            His brow furrowed again.  “Did I mean what, love?”

            “You know, when you called me lovely and beautiful and all of that,” Emma gestured down to her swollen abdomen.  “I’m starting to feel like a cow, as fat as I’m starting to get.”

            Killian’s eyes softened and he reached down to caress her belly.  “You’re not fat, my love; you’re pregnant.”

            “Really? It really doesn’t, like, bother or repulse you?”

            “Absolutely not,” he said with a decisive shake of the head.  “Emma, love, you’re carrying my baby.  How could you be anything but the most beautiful woman in the world to me?”

            Emma felt the tears prick the back of her eyes.  He always knew exactly what to say.

            “And what about me?” he went on with a grin.  “with my red nose and pale features, I’m hardly much to look at.”

            She rolled her eyes then.  “Killian, you’re kind of disgusting really.  Any normal person would look like crap, feeling as bad as you do, but you!  Even at your worst, you’re still hot as hell.”

            He grinned.  “That I am, darling, that I am.  Now that we determined that I’m devilishly handsome and you’re beautiful as an angel—an angel who would still be a vision no matter how much weight she gained, can we dispense with talk of being ‘fat’?”

            She smiled.  “Yeah, guess we should.”

            They lapsed for a moment into silence—a silence that was only broken by further coughs and sneezes.

            “That cough is really starting to sound bad,” Emma observed.

            “Aye,” he agreed.  “It’s most unpleasant.”

            It was time to take some more direct action.  “Okay, you go ahead and get some rest.  I’ll go call the doctor and set you up an appointment.”

            He sat up quickly, and the scowl he threw her was positively murderous.  “No you bloody well will not!”

            _Um…okay?_ “Killian, you’re sick; you don’t seem to be getting better.  The doctor can help you.”

            “I’ll not let one of those butchers near my person!”

            She gave him a smirk.  “Whale may not always have the _best_ bedside manner, but I’d hardly call him a butcher.”

            “Swan, I’m well aware of the treatment doctors give,” he said angrily.  “Bleeding and purging and the like.  I’ll not stand for it.”

            _Bleeding and purging?_   “What kind of doctors did you _have_ back in the Enchanted forest?”

            “Bloody barbaric ones!”

            Emma helped Killian lay back against his pillows and ran soothing hands down his arms.  “Well, doctors here are different.  All Whale will do is give you and examination, and then he’ll probably give you some drugs to help you get well.”

            The scowl continued unabated.  She knew that look; it was eerily similar to the stubborn, intractable one two year old Neal threw her parents on a regular basis.  “Swan, the only person I wish to be examined by is you.”

            She rolled her eyes.  Sometimes men were the biggest babies in the world.  “Look, the doctor can help you get well!  I’ll stay with you in the exam room if you want and hold your hand.”

            No change in the scowl.

            “Fine,” she said on a sigh.  “If you agree to be a good pirate and go to the doctor without complaint, I’ll take that long hot bath with you tonight—but the further enjoyable activities will still have to wait until you’re well.”

 His scowl dropped a fraction.  “At the first sign of Whale bringing out the leeches for blood-letting, I will leave that examination room without a backward glance.”

Emma grinned.  “Killian, if Dr. Whale pulls out leeches, I’ll be right there with you.”

Finally his expression cleared.  He held out his hand for her to shake.  “Very well, love, we have an accord.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \--Okay, so I lied. I wasn’t able to get this thing finished in 2 chapters. Looks like at least one more is in order.  
> \--Given his vocabulary and manner of speaking and the naval uniform he wore before becoming a pirate, I’d put Killian somewhere in the 18th century, if I had to place him in a time period within our own world (although, his pirate wardrobe seems more 17th century, but whatever.) I decided, with that being the case, I’d make 18th century medical practices what he’s most familiar with. After doing a little research, I can’t blame Killian for being reluctant to go to the doctor! In particular, God help you if you were ever diagnosed with a mental illness of some kind!  
> \--Up next (in what will probably be the conclusion): Killian takes a trip to visit Dr. Whale and is diagnosed with bronchitis, for which he’s prescribed antibiotics. He proves to be a terrible patient, refusing to stay home and rest after the fourth day of being sick (side note: I feel you, Killian! I’ve been stuck home sick for a solid week now, and I’m about to go crazy!), and Emma has to resort to drastic measures—leaving him with a babysitter.


	3. Chapter 3

                Killian had to admit, the visit to the doctor’s office hadn’t been as dire as he’d expected.  They’d led Swan and him to a room filled with strange instruments he’d never seen before, but at least Dr. Whale had shown no inclination to bleed him or give him a purgative of any sort.  In point of fact, the visit itself had been rather painless.

            An annoyingly perky nurse had been the first to enter the examination room.  She’d instructed him to step upon a scale after which she’d dutifully noted down his weight.  Afterwards, she’d instructed him to sit upon an examination table covered with paper—for sanitary purposes, Swan had stated—where she’d taken note of the rest of his vitals.  She’d noted his respiration and pulse, and then used an odd cuff called a sphygmomanometer, which evidently was used to measure the pressure of his blood.  That test had concerned him a bit, he must admit.  What purpose would the nurse have to know the pressure of his blood other than to determine whether or not some of it would need to be spilt in order to restore him to health? 

            He’d voiced his concerns to Swan, but she’d merely rolled her eyes.  “Killian, let the nurse take your damn blood pressure and stop being a baby!”

            He’d complied, but when the woman had attempted to put a thermometer in his mouth, he’d flat out refused.  “I will not put such a strange object under my tongue, Swan!  What manner of person would even ask such a thing in a civilized society?”

            Unfortunately for him, Dr. Whale walked in just as he’d hit his stride with his complaints against the thermometer.

            “Come on, Captain Jones,” Whale said, as he slid into a chair and glanced over a chart where the nurse had noted his information.  “We need to know your temperature so that we can get a good idea of what’s going on and treat you appropriately.  If you refuse the use of the oral thermometer, I’m sure I can hunt down a rectal one.”

            Swan had barked out a laugh.

            “And just what the bloody hell is a ‘rectal thermometer’?” he’d asked.

            By the time the doctor had finished explaining the use of a rectal thermometer—and particularly where it was placed—Killian regretted having asked.

            “That’s positively barbaric,” he’d muttered in disgust.

            “So, you gonna let the nurse take your temperature the normal way, then, so we can avoid that bit of barbarity?” Whale had asked.

            “Aye,” Killian muttered finally, dutifully opening his mouth for the offending instrument, which evidently told the doctor he had a slight fever.

            The rest of the visit had gone far more smoothly.  Dr. Whale had peered into his ears and throat, then he’d used a strange device (a stethoscope, he believed Swan called it) to listen to Killian’s breathing, after which the brunt of the examination was over.

            “I definitely hear some bronchitis in there, Captain,” Whale stated, scribbling in his file, “but the good news is I hear no evidence of pneumonia.”

            Was Killian supposed to know what those strange terms meant?

            Dr. Whale prescribed something called an antibiotic and a tonic to combat his cough.  He’d suggested rest and plenty of fluids (“Does rum count?” he’d asked hopefully) and then sent Killian and Emma on their merry way.

 

~.~.~.~.~.~.~

 

            Over the course of the next couple of days, Killian followed the doctor’s orders to a T.  He remained abed.  He drank plenty of fluids (sadly, Emma vetoed rum).  He dutifully took his medicine.  As he swallowed the antibiotics, he liked to imagine the capsules would open and thousands of tiny soldiers, dressed in the uniform of the royal navy would come spilling out to do battle.  He imagined the antibiotic soldiers all looked much like Liam or like Emma, while the germs…well, they bore a distinct likeness to the Crocodile.

            Emma was bloody brilliant through it all.  She cared for and nurtured him in such a way that he felt truly loved and cherished.  He’d feared it would overtax her in her condition, but she’d waved his concerns aside, insisting she was in the “sweet spot” of her pregnancy—far enough along that the morning sickness had ended but not far enough along that she’d become uncomfortably large.

            She’d even gone so far as to bring him chicken soup the other night.  He’d received the offering somewhat warily, well remembering some of Swan’s less than successful culinary attempts.  She’d laughed and assured him he didn’t need to worry.  She hadn’t _prepared_ the soup; she’d merely picked it up from Granny’s.

            Yes, all things considered, in the two days since visiting the doctor, Killian had been amazingly docile and obedient. 

Now, on the morning of the third day, a change was in order. 

Killian was _bored_.  One could only take enforced rest for so long before he began to go mad.  Besides, he was beginning to feel better.  True, he was a long sight from “well”, but he was better.  That ought to serve as sufficient reason to break his way free from his house arrest.

            He’d been away from his job for far too long; it was time he returned.

            Decision made, Killian stepped from the apartment into the blistering July heat and headed for the station.  Emma might be surprised to see him, but all things considered, she’d be pleased.  Killian could see it.  She’d welcome him to the office with a “what are you doing here?” and a big smile.

 

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

 

            “What are you doing here?” Emma asked with a scowl.  “You know full well you should still be home resting and getting better!”

            “But Swan,” he said, “I _am_ better!”

            _Cough! Cough!_

            “Um-hm,” she said, taking his arm and propelling him toward the door.  “I can see that. Much _, much_ better.”

            “Come now, Love,” he’d protested _Sneeze! Cough!_ “I _am_ much improved.  The tiny antibiotic soldiers have clearly taken the advantage on the battlefield.”

            She rolled her eyes.  “Yeah, well, they’ll have a lot bigger advantage if that ‘battlefield’ stays lying down and resting than if he’s overtaxing himself.  Go home and get some rest.”

            Killian scowled.  “You have need of me.  There may be criminals afoot and I intend to be of assistance in bringing them to justice.”

            “How?  By coughing on them?”

            The scowl deepened.  Emma sighed.  Once again he was being as stubborn as her two-year-old brother.  What was she going to _do_ with him?

            And then an idea formed.  A brilliant idea.  He wanted to act like a two-year-old?  Fine.  Emma knew just the person who could handle stubborn two-year-olds in her sleep.

 

~.~.~.~.~.~.~

            “Thanks again Mom for taking care of him for me,” Emma called as she breezed out of the door of her parents’ flat.

            Killian was not amused.  Swan had arranged for him to stay with a _baby sitter_.  He was to while away the remainder of the day with the Lady Snow and young master Neal.  Oh the indignity!  Should his former crew see him now they would laugh him to scorn!

            Snow patted his arm in a truly motherly fashion, and led him toward the couch in the living room.

            “I put Neal down for his nap in our room, but once he wakes up, you can have the bed.  Now relax; let me make you a hot drink, soothe that cough a little.”

            Killian complied, seeing no real choice in the matter.  He would go along with Swan’s demands…for now.  Perhaps it was best to play along for the time being; lull Snow into a false sense of security.  And once she was sufficiently distracted with Neal…well, he was a pirate; he was quite adept at escape.

            The keys to a successful escape were patience and planning.  As Killian drank the hot cocoa Snow brought him, he employed both.  After some careful consideration, he decided that his best bet was to convince the Lady Snow that he was perfectly willing to be docile.  At present she was eyeing him as closely as a dog afraid someone wished to steal his bone.  Swan had been careful to warn her mother that he would likely try to make a run for it, and Snow seemed to be taking her responsibility as the pirate’s baby sitter quite seriously.

            After drinking the cocoa—which Killian must admit did feel quite soothing—he let the subterfuge begin.  Giving an exaggerated yawn, Killian lay down and curled up on the couch.  Closing his eyes, he let his breathing even in a credible semblance of sleep. 

He heard his mother-in-law step into the room to check on him, and a moment later a blanket covered him from neck to toes.   “Sleep well, Killian,” she murmured.

            It was kind of nice, truth be told, having a motherly presence around to care for him.  His own mother had passed when he was too small to remember her, but he’d wager she’d be like this; a calming presence in the midst of the storm.  Were it not for the fact that he’d had more than his fill of enforced rest, Killian might enjoy his time spent here with Swan’s mother.  As it was, come hell or high water, he _would_ break free.

            Killian heard Snow make her way up the stairs.  Now was his chance.  He’d silently slip outside, and once he was free he’d…well, he didn’t know what he’d do given Swan’s insistance he not return to work, but he’d find something.

            He made it to the door and silently began turning the knob.  _He was going to make it_!  Freedom was in sight….

            “Unca Killy!  Unca Killy!”

            Killian cursed silently and then slowly turned around.  Foiled by a two year old!

            Neal Nolan was, of course, Killian’s brother-in-law and not his nephew, but the tyke had taken to calling him Uncle Killy and Emma Aunt Em.  It was rather endearing, as was the near hero-worship the lad seemed to have for him.  Perhaps he could have slipped out while Snow was still occupied elsewhere, but he was loath to break Neal’s little heart by simply ignoring him.

            “Well, hello there, lad,” he said, walking forward to greet the toddler.  Neal raised his hands up to him, and Killian obliged by picking him up.

            “I thought I heard my little guy!” Snow said, stopping to drop a basket of clean laundry next to the couch.  Neal squealed in delight as soon as he saw his mother and squirmed to get out of Killian’s arms.  Killian set the boy down and grinned as he ran to Snow and threw his arms exuberantly around her legs.

            Snow settled her son on her hip and then gave Killian a suspicious look.  “Just why are you up?  You should be resting.”

            Killian scratched behind his ear.  “Why the lad awoke and wanted his Uncle Killy, of course.”

            “Um-hm,” she said, obviously unconvinced. 

Did she realize the mutiny he’d  been planning?  Perhaps it was best to lie low for a while longer and develop a new plan.  “The lad’s energy has quite depleted my strength.  Perhaps I’d best retire to the bed for a while.”

            She continued to look at him skeptically for long moments, and finally nodded, gesturing to the bed she shared with the prince.  “Neal,” she said, never taking her eyes off Killian, “Uncle Killy’s sick so we’re going to take care of him.  We need to make sure he stays here and gets lots of good rest.”

            Half an hour later Killian thought he had his chance.  Snow disappeared upstairs in search of something while Neal happily played with his blocks on the far side of the living room.  Killian would need to be quick; he had mere moments, but it was now or never.  If he ever hoped to escape Swan’s mother’s motherly clutches, this was it.

            Killian removed his shoes and crept silently to the door.  He was going to make it this time.  He knew it.  Just a few more inches…

            “No, no, Unca Killy!” came the admonishing little voice from the far side of the room.  “You stay!  Mama said!”

            Killian’s shoulders sagged in defeat.  How was he to prevail with the bronchitis, his wife, his mother-in-law, his miniature brother-in-law, and seemingly all the forces of the universe aligned against him?

            “Right you are, lad,” he said on a sigh that gradually turned into a cough.  “It would be most unwise to cross Mama.”

            Shaking his head, he crept back to bed.

 

~.~.~.~.~.~.~

 

            In the end, the foe slunk away like a craven coward.  It had been gradually retreating for some days, but it wasn’t until Saturday morning, a good week and a half since he’d fallen ill, that Killian realized the enemy had turned tail and run.  He finally felt the very picture of health.  His antibiotic army was victorious at last!

            Killian looked over at Emma, still fast asleep on her side of the bed, and smiled tenderly.  She’d done so much for him during his convalescence, he wished to return the favor. Careful not to disturb her, he slipped from the bed and padded out to the kitchen.  Perhaps breakfast in bed was in order.

            As he scrambled eggs and buttered toast and diced fruit, Killian hummed under his breath, grateful beyond words that his formidable foe had finally been defeated.

            He was putting the final touches on the tray he meant to bring to his love when he felt her slim arms wrap around him from behind.  “Morning, Killian.”

            And then she moved forward, tugging his head down to her, kissing him as though the world was coming to an end.  After a moment of surprise, Killian wrapped his arms around her and returned the embrace with interest.  He’d missed this!  He’d missed _her_!

            Finally, the need for oxygen won out, and Killian pulled back, devilish grin firmly in place.  “Well good morning to you, too, love.  To what do I owe the pleasure?”

            She reached up and caressed his cheek.  “You’re better.  I can tell.”

            “Aye, darling, that I am.  I suppose your enthusiastic greeting means we need no longer fear I will pass the germs to you?”

            “Seems that way,” she said.  “So, I was thinking...”

            He raised an eyebrow.  From the grin on her lips and the slight pink hue to her cheeks he suspected he was going to quite like the direction her thoughts were taking her.  “Aye?”

            “You know, Henry’s staying with Regina for the weekend, so it’s just the two of us.”

            “Aye.”

            Emma caressed her belly “And we only have a few months until this little one decides to greet the world.”

            “Aye, true enough.”

            “You know how it is with a baby.  Our free time, our _alone_ time will be much harder to come by.  So I thought we should take advantage of it while we can.”

            Killian grinned, then leaned down and kissed her long and deep.  “And just what did you have in mind for our free time today love?”

            “I did promise I’d take that long hot bath with you if you agreed to see the doctor.”

            Killian settled his hands—real and prosthetic on her hips, and his grin widened.  “It would be quite bad form to renege on your promise.”

            “Yeah,” she agreed with a smile.  “So I thought we could start with that bath and then see how things go from there.”

            Killian rather liked the way his wife’s mind worked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \--So now this really is finished. I’m hoping Killian’s victory over his formidable foe will scare my own formidable foe into surrendering as well!  
> \--Killian’s doctor’s appointment was very similar to my own—except, of course, I didn’t put up a fuss when the nurse took my blood pressure, and the doctor didn’t have to threaten me with a rectal thermometer! Also, I have next to no medical knowledge, but I did take note of the official term for the blood pressure cuff thing while I was waiting for the doctor to show up, so I figured I’d bring it in to make myself look smart. :-p  
> \--I really like Captain Charming interaction, but I’d also like Killian to spend some time with Snow. I feel like those two didn’t really hit it off at the start, but now Snow sees how happy he makes her daughter. I think they could have a really nice dynamic as well. I also see Snow as becoming even more motherly now that she has a baby she can actually raise, so I thought it would be nice to give her a chance to mother Killian while he was sick.   
> \--Between Mama Snow and two-year-old Neal, Killian didn’t have a chance! There was no way he was making it out of the Charming flat that day!

**Author's Note:**

> \--This story is brought to you by the bronchitis that has evidently decided to take up permanent residence in my lungs. (Okay, maybe that was a little over-dramatic, but the constant coughing is getting old fast!) I decided if I have to suffer, I might as well make my favorite pirate suffer as well. (Wow, I’m kind of evil when I’m sick, lol!)  
> \--As noted in the description of the story, this takes place in the “The Girl That I Adore” universe. This obviously takes place several months before the start of that story as Emma is pregnant with Eva here. I considered adding this into TGTIA as a kind of prequel, but finally decided against it. The focus of TGTIA is Killian as a father, and, in particular, his relationship with his oldest daughter, Eva. This story didn’t quite fit that mold, although I did manage to squeeze in a little father/daughter moment (in a matter of speaking!)  
> \--This was meant to be a one-shot, but, alas, it got away from me. I started writing about the CS pregnancy and I couldn’t stop myself. I don’t know what it is, but I can’t get enough of pregnant CS or daddy!Killian lately. These two totally need to have a baby on the actual show! Anyway, looks like this story will need to be broken up into two parts.  
> \--Up next: Emma insists on taking Killian to the doctor, a move he fights like crazy. Killian proves to be a terrible patient, refusing to stay home and rest, so Emma resorts to drastic measures. If her husband refuses to follow the doctor’s orders of his own accord, maybe he needs a babysitter.


End file.
